


A Zig-Zag Line

by notenoughtogivebread



Series: Klaine Advent 2014 [16]
Category: Glee
Genre: Bullying, Friendship/Love, Growing Up, Heartache, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-04-26 07:14:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4995175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notenoughtogivebread/pseuds/notenoughtogivebread
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Klaine Advent 2014: Blaine doesn't know WHAT the events in the elevator mean. What he does know is that Dave is the best kind of friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Zig-Zag Line

His phone had died sometime over the weekend, so it wasn’t surprising when David looked up concerned when he came in the door dressed in the same clothes he’d been wearing when he left on Saturday.

“You okay, Boo?” He guessed he looked as awful as he felt; they had taken bird baths in the bathroom sink, but he hadn’t showered or changed his underwear, and it had been HOT in that elevator.

“Oh, God. You can’t imagine. I need the world’s hottest shower.”

“What happened?” Dave asked him as he crossed to the bedroom.

“How well do you know Sue Sylvester?” he threw over his shoulder as he pulled a clean t-shirt, boxers, and his sleep flannels out of his chest of drawers.

“Coach Sue was never a big fan of me. She’s—honestly, I think she’s a little scary.”

He huffed out his agreement. “Scary is right. Hey, do you mind holding that thought? I NEED to feel more human,” he called out as he jumped into the shower.

He used his time in the shower to untangle some of the mess in his head and his heart, hoping to feel better, healthier inside as well as outside, before he returned to his boyfriend. When he came out of the bathroom, squeezing his curls dry, Dave was in the kitchen pouring them both glasses of fruit punch. He carried them over to the couch with a basket of hard pretzels.

“I was gonna have a beer and pretzels and watch the late game, but you don’t look too up to it.”

“No, no. That would be fine. But that doesn’t mean the juice isn’t welcome.” He joined Dave on the couch and drew a deep breath.

“Okay. So, Coach Sue. I don’t get her, I never know what motivates her, but she’s—you’re so right—she’s _crazy,_ David. Did I tell you that my senior year she hired a plane to fly over McKinley saying _Blaine is On the Bottom_ because I wanted to quit the damn Cheerios?”

Dave barked out a laugh, then schooled his expression to one of sympathy. “Sorry. That sucks.”

“Yeah. And like—so not HER business. Anyway, turns out she’s not quite done with messing with me—well, with Rachel Berry and Kurt, actually. She’s pissed they’re resurrecting the Glee club.”

“Again.”

“Yeah, again. There’s something—I don’t know—weird going on with my buddy Sam. And somehow Rachel’s tied in there. It would be par for the course—I think she’s like the only New Direction girl Sam hasn’t dated… And then, she’s fucking with Kurt’s head—and with my LIFE.”

The glass was shaking in his hand. Dave, his brown eyes soft with worry, pried it away from him, and then he took Blaine’s shoulders to turn him so they were face to face. “Hey. She’s not here, and whatever shit she pulled, it’s over.”

“But that’s just it—it isn’t over—not really. Listen.” His hands still needed something to do; he tightened them on the ends of the towel still draped around his neck. “She, like, created this ridiculous, elaborate scenario that ended up with Kurt and I locked in this fake elevator.”

“There’s no elevator in McKinley, except for that awful freight elevator. I had to use it freshman year when I was on crutches with a sprained ankle.”

“Yeah. Which is why Kurt was so intrigued by the ‘new’ one when he saw it. And I had just come out of the bathroom—whatever, we both got on it. And it was like this weird trap.”

Dave was incredulous as Blaine described the elevator, and the creepy Sue puppet, the bathroom and the weird picnic lunch. “But what the hell was it _for_?”

“To fuck with us. To keep me away from my Warblers. She told us—well, the weird puppet told us—you go to horror movies; Sam says it sounded like something out of _Saw_ —that we could only get out if we kissed in front of it. Ugh!”

“That’s weird as shit, Blaine.” He chuckled then at the thought of a horror movie starring those two. “I guess we should be glad she didn’t throw in an axe!”

“Dave! This is serious! We were in there—like, 15 hours.”

“Really? Jeez, Blaine. What took you so long? You just give a quick kiss and you’re out of there.”

“Except Kurt tried that. She wanted—.” He dropped his voice to a tense whisper. “She wanted us to _make out,_ Dave. And I wasn’t gonna do that. I wouldn’t do that—I don’t want to _cheat_.” His voice broke on the last word.

Dave had gone still. Blaine looked up, his eyes wet, to see his boyfriend looking down at where his own hands still gripped Blaine’s shoulders, a tiny frown crossing his forehead. He must have felt Blaine’s gaze on him, because he sighed deeply and looked up to meet his gaze. “Oh, Boo. You didn’t, though.”

“But we _did_ kiss, and the damn puppet cheered, and it was—“

“But it didn’t count, B. It could never count. Look, do you remember your first kiss?”

Blaine blushed and looked away, remembering the Dalton common room and Kurt’s impossibly young face. “Yeah, but…”

“I’ve never told you about mine.” Dave’s face was eager and fond, but Blaine stopped him.

“Dave, I know, remember?”

Dave looked confused, then stricken when he realized Blaine was referring to that awful stolen kiss in the McKinley locker room. “No, no. God, I didn’t mean—“

He drew a shuddering breath, then took Blaine’s hands into his. “No, B. I didn’t mean that shitty day at McKinley. But, this is better, ‘cause _that_ one—it didn’t count, for me or Kurt, did it?”

Blaine didn’t know what to say. Kurt had forgiven Dave long ago, he knew. The shadow of their shared sad pasts, that day they learned of Dave’s suicide attempt, the thought of that awful loneliness—they were so embedded as parts of their story. Then, too, that afternoon at Dalton was like magic in his memory still, despite the loss. He looked into Dave’s sincere face and smiled sadly. “Tell me.”

“You know I was hanging out at Scandals—like, way before I came out to ANYONE but you guys—and Santana, I guess. And—I had a lot of fun, usually.”

“They’re good guys.”

“Yeah. So. Well, it was after I got out of the hospital. I had all this summer school shit so I could graduate, and my mom…ugh. Just had to get out of the house. And, what the hell, I was out then. So I showed up at Scandals.” He grinned. “On Country Bear Night.”

“Did you wow them all with your line-dancing prowess?” Blaine had disentangled their hands, and he squeezed Dave’s bicep as he teased.

“No. It was more like—returning royalty. They were so glad I was still _here_ , you know? And Terry—you met him, he was one of the guys in Breadstix the other night—he just started taking CARE of me, you know?”

“Steering you clear of Bob and his atrocious taste in cocktails?”

“You know it. And, I don’t know, making me feel NORMAL again.”

“He probably thought you were cute.”

“Whatever.” And Dave’s blushes never did get less cute. “All’s I know is that one night we were just laughing, messing around in the game room—one of those silly bowling tournaments. And the next thing I know, he’s asking me on a real date—like, with him picking me up at my house, dinner and a movie kind of date.”

Blaine grinned. “Did you end up making out in the back row of the theatre?”

“NO! What kind of a romantic first kiss is that? Besides, we went to see _Man of Steel_ and I think he was kind of into Superman in it.”

“Duh. Henry Cavill. Who wouldn’t be?”

“He’s alright. He’s no Chris Evans though.”

Blaine nodded eagerly. “No gay man ALIVE would be able to make out in the back row of a movie theatre with Captain America on the screen.”

“Yeah.” Dave blushed again, the little dimple in his cheek coming and going as he smiled, remembering. “Anyway, he like, walked me to the porch, thanked me for a great night, and kissed me. It was _great._ And more important, it just—it was _different_ , you know, that kiss. Like he was kissing ME, Dave.”

Blaine felt a swell of affection for Dave then, and placed a hand in the middle of his friend’s broad chest. “It’s good, isn’t it, to know that you matter to someone?”

“Yeah, like that.” He covered Blaine’s hand with his own. “But that’s what I mean. Those are the ones—the kisses—that matter. Not just the press of some guy’s mouth as you get each other off, but—you know.”

“Yeah. I do.” He wondered then if Dave could see it in his face, that he was remembering not THIS last kiss, but all the ones before with Kurt—the tender declarations of love, the hot passionate embraces on crowded dance floors, the giggling teasing kisses as they hushed each other in the crowded loft.

Probably not—no more than he knew if Dave was thinking of more kisses with Terry, or with Tim, the guy he’d met in his freshman Statistics class, a hockey player even bigger than Dave. But right now, Dave was focused on Blaine, and he asked, “Hey. What happened _after_ you kissed?”

“Um, well, like I said, the icky puppet cheered and, well, I remember looking at it out of the side of my eye. Kurt just looked—panicked. I mean, the door STILL didn’t open. And just when I thought she wanted ANOTHER one, they opened.”

“And then what?”

“And then we ran like hell to the auditorium. I had to see how my Warblers were—turns out they performed while I was locked up—and I was worried about them. Thank God for Sam; he had taken notes on their performance, like, in his head mostly, but he did jot some down. So at least I can start with that. And…”

Dave’s smile just grew as he talked, and then he leaned forward and brushed a kiss on Blaine’s nose.

“What was that for?”

“You, my friend, could be a great teacher some day. All that mess, and—it’s just something to see you worry about them. You’re a good guy, Blaine.”

“I don’t know. There’s this cute defenseman on Bowling Green’s ice hockey team who’s pretty great, too. Do you know him—goes by the name Yogi Bear?”

Dave shook his head, shy, then grinned at Blaine. “So anyway, sounds like what we’re saying, Boo, is fuck Sue Sylvester. We do what we want.”

Blaine felt all his tension about the events of the past few days melt away in the face of Dave’s earnest good humor. He knew there was some wishful thinking there, but he could put that aside for his friend. He leaned forward and kissed Dave, lingering even as he started to laugh.

“What?”

“You don’t mind if I take a pass on your plans for Coach Sue?” he asked. Then he stood up from the couch and headed for the kitchen. He looked back to see Dave’s delighted smile, his cheeks still flushed. “How about a good Pennsylvania lager while you watch the Steelers?”

And just like that, it was another quiet night at home (well, as quiet as it could be with the Steelers actually slaughtering the Panthers). Dave turned the game on as Blaine opened the bottle of Yuengling. He ruffled his boyfriend’s hair as he sat down at the other end of the couch, tucking his cold bare feet under Dave’s warm thigh as he pulled out his lesson planner and the crumpled envelope with Sam’s performance notes.

When the phone rang in the third quarter as the Steelers started piling points up, Blaine looked up with a fond smile. “That will be your dad, Pittsburgh’s Ambassador to Western Ohio.” 

“Is it okay?”

“Like I’d begrudge you two this moment. Go…”

Dave laughed and took the call, jumping up to get another beer and to pop his traditional fourth quarter pizza rolls in the toaster oven. Blaine bumped past him and grabbed a soda, leaning in close to say hello to Paul Karofsky. “You should just come watch the fourth quarter with us. Dave’s put the pizza rolls in.”

Then he went back to his seat, glancing one last time at his lesson plan before putting it away and pulling his journal out. Dave came back to the couch, and pulled Blaine’s feet into his lap. “He’s on his way.”

“Good. This one’s too good to miss.” He smiled but his attention was back on the book as the game returned.

Dave squeezed the foot under his palm and said, “Do you want to go write in the bedroom? Or is this okay?”

“More than okay, bud.”

And it was. Because after the chaos of the past few days, he found that what he wanted to write about—was Dave.

_When I was a kid, I thought people with big dreams and ambitions were like mountain climbers. I thought they just put their heads down and attacked those dreams by charging straight up the mountain. That’s how Cooper did it, I thought. And my dad. Nothing got in their way; they just kept pushing on._

_And I guess I thought that was how it was for everyone. And then it wasn’t that way for me. And I decided that meant I was broken, different. And I tried to hide that brokenness from people. And when I had setbacks, I tried to will my way past them. Jesus, what was I thinking proposing to Kurt, just deciding that since that was our goal, we just needed to get back on the road to gain it?_

_But, I’ve learned some stuff since then. Mostly I’ve learned to pay attention, to feel what I’m feeling and give it its right name. And now I know that getting to the top of the mountain—a person more often follows a zigzag line. Maybe he’s like Dave, and his response to figuring out he’s gay is terror and violence directed at other people. It would have been something strange if after Kurt and I talked to him that day on the stairs at McKinley, we all sat down and sang Kumbaya and draped each other in rainbow leis. And maybe Dave wouldn’t have gotten this strong if he hadn’t had to fight through it on his own—so strong and kind and grateful for the good things of each day. Okay, now I sound all Kumbaya about him. But it’s true. Not everyone’s me, running to their laptop to find the nearest gay community center and asking cute soccer players to dances before their voice has even broken. Some people need a dose of Santana kicking them in the ass and Kurt’s achingly true generosity of spirit. Some people almost break under the scorn of strangers and so-called friends. So he skated a zigzag pattern up the ice, but this guy now: he’s a catch. And he’s found his community, a bunch of goofy guys who travel together to Ohio State and Blue Jackets games, who were here to catch him when he fell and remind him he matters, and a dad who’s second only to Burt Hummel in my eyes._

_And I hope I know when he gets to the top of that mountain, when he finds that guy who’s right for him, when he helps that player out of Bowling Green sign a big NFL contract. But I know that it’s almost time for me to zigzag back to my own climb. Maybe NYU still wants me; maybe I can take some musicology classes; maybe—maybe Kurt. It will be different now because I’m different, stronger, thanks to Dr. Patel (hi, doc!) and this big guy shouting at the TV._

The doorbell rang and Paul Karofsky tumbled in the door, saying “What did I miss? What did I miss?” And Blaine put away his thoughts and his journal and got his Yogi’s dad a Yuengling of his own. Then he rescued the pizza rolls and settled down to spend another night with the decent man he’d almost fallen in love with. Almost.

**Author's Note:**

> (Blaine and Dave K.; set between 6x05 and 6x06; occurs the night before the events of A Dalton Boy)


End file.
